Entry into the Capital (6)
‘The Praetorian Guard is stupider than I thought.’
I clicked my tongue at the sight of the enemy forming up to oppose us. Instead of a safe retreat, they were assuming a battle stance against us. It was astonishing.
Perhaps they dismissed my words as lies. Our visible forces clearly outnumbered theirs by a wide margin—yet they chose to wheel about and fight. Their decision was unexpected.
But for a choice like that, their movements were far too sloppy. Their deployment was a mess from the start. They hadn't even formed proper ranks or files, and their formation was bizarre.
Considering the terrain, they should have tightened their lines into a solid phalanx and attempted a conical breakthrough.
Simply clashing with us to decide the victor was no option; they lacked the punch to deliver a decisive blow. If they truly thought they could take us with that force and formation, they were thick-headed idiots.
Of course, they might be lulling us into underestimating them while plotting something else, but common sense dictated that starting from a disadvantaged position made victory unlikely. Did they have some clever ploy to turn the tide?
I was puzzled, but if the enemy was serving themselves up like this, there was no reason not to fight. Even if turning the wheel meant painful losses on our side, a general doesn't spurn a banquet laid out by the foe.
I exchanged a glance with Marius and raised my hand.
“Atillca Legion, advance!”
The Atillca Legion's standard-bearer galloped ahead of the front line, hoisting the black eagle banner. True to their mainland legion roots, the well-equipped Atillca infantry gripped their shields and began a steady advance.
In response, the Praetorian infantry formed their own front line and approached.
‘As expected, they reek of inexperience. Challenging us in a simple linear formation? All they can hope for is a war of attrition. Or do they have some surprise up their sleeve like Pompeianus?’
I sneered.
They couldn't have prepared for a clash with us—they never imagined it.
Soon, the two lines collided.
Shields and swords clashed; shields ground against shields. The lines shoved against each other in a tense stalemate. Confirming that our forces were parallel, I summoned the 16th Legion's standard-bearer.
“16th Legion! Advance!”
The standard-bearer bellowed my order.
Now my second eagerly awaited force advanced toward the battlefield, shields at the ready. The Praetorians countered by deploying a fresh unit. Were they just planning to push and pull?
I folded my arms, deep in thought.
The battlefield was a gentle plain along the Tere River. The ground was generally damp and muddy. A prolonged fight could tire the men.
‘But relying on that would be a stretch—they're outnumbered. They're so stupid, I can't read them at all.’
I gave a wry smile at the sight of the two armies forming long lines and slamming together. We still had ample reserves.
Even excluding Usiper's cavalry on the far flank, Marius's conscripts could buy time in this brute-force shoving match, if not with quality.
Of course, I had no intention of dragging out this simplistic brawl.
“Consul.”
“Something to say?”
Marius turned at my call.
“We need to introduce a variable. Have your men breach the embankment.”
Marius's eyes widened at my words.
Breaching it would only flood the area to thigh height, at most.
But even that current would scatter their formation. And in such chaos, combat experience would make all the difference.
“Won't that ruin the fields?”
“Thousands dying means years without crops anyway. Since we're fighting, better to end it quickly, no?”
“True enough. So be it.”
Marius nodded after a moment's thought. As he issued orders, I sent a few brave soldiers to summon Usiper from Dalri. If he timed it right, he'd strike their crumbling rear fatally.
My plan: Crush them mercilessly, drive them to Dalri, and finish them there.
It deviated from the original in several ways, but no plan survives war intact. Operations shift with variables and enemy intent.
Commanders who can't improvise doom their own troops.
I grew curious about the aces the Praetorians were banking on.
Whirr.
Suddenly, amid the deadlock, a hail of arrows rained down. Our men hastily raised shields to block. Caught mid-fight, our line buckled slightly under the assault.
‘So archery is their ace.’
It made sense. Without strong cavalry or numbers, their sole edge was powerful bowmen.
A full-strength Praetorian Legion boasted two thousand archers. That firepower gave them confidence against most foes.
And as an elite guard legion, they overflowed with supplies. They could loose arrows nonstop for hours.
That might make even simpletons think they could hold in a wheel fight. But challenging me on that alone? I scoffed upon confirming their hand.
‘If that's all they've got, I'll slaughter them.’
No more thinking needed.
“Rikius!”
“Yes, sir.”
“The embankment will break soon. I'm giving you all my guards. Shatter their left flank. Can you do it?”
Rikius grinned at my question.
“Fat pigs? Shouldn't be too hard.”
“With that confidence, go show those swine the mettle of the frontier eagle.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rikius saluted across his chest.
He led my guards toward the enemy's left flank, where our men and theirs were locked in a tug-of-war. But a path would open soon.
And—
Boom!
The embankment crumbled after hundreds, thousands of spade strikes. River water roared through the breach like a mad beast. The hole was narrow, so the initial surge wasn't overwhelming.
Still, the water spread in a semicircle, swallowing the plain. It lapped at my horse's hooves. In a blink, muddied water blanketed everything.
Soldiers startled as it soaked their ankles. Atillca and 16th Legion veterans adapted swiftly—they'd seen it all. The Praetorians floundered.
No experience fighting ankle-deep in river water exposed their weaknesses.
Slipping, one took a sword to the gut and fell; others lost footing and were shoved back!
The Praetorian line dissolved into pandemonium.
As if waiting, Rikius roared on their left, shoving enemy infantry aside with raw power.
Cracks spread across their front; archers lost composure. Bowmen needed infantry shields desperately.
With allies crumbling before them—shields vanishing—and water hindering draws, their shots went wild.
As the Praetorians staggered like a bird with broken wings, Marius committed his conscripts. Useless in a real slugfest, they could still do their part in the endgame.
The conscripts charged with cheers; some Praetorians, sensing defeat, turned and fled.
Then Usiper's cavalry hammered their rear like demons from hell. The barbarian horsemen trampled the disintegrating line indiscriminately, as if devouring a feast.
Flight was the Praetorians' only option. As they broke, we pursued, swinging swords mercilessly.
Marius and I offered no mercy. Challenging imperial order and dethroning the emperor was unforgivable—tantamount to destroying the Empire itself.
“Time we join the chase.”
“Agreed.”
I rode slowly along the Tere with Consul Marius. The riverside bore stark traces of the one-sided slaughter: hundreds of headless Praetorian corpses strewn about.
The water ran red.
I viewed it impassively. A common frontier sight. Too many battles to blanch at it.
As we neared Dalri, our forces delivered the killing blow. Cornered Praetorians jammed the narrow bridge, thousands shoving desperately.
They couldn't flee properly, slaughtered one by one. Some desperately shed armor and jumped into the river—but exhausted men can't swim.
Dalri's bank was littered with drowned bodies.
A few crossed, only for Usiper's cavalry to pursue like avengers from the underworld, claiming heads. The rebel Praetorian Legion vanished without trace.
Battle over, we praised the troops and began stripping gear from the dead. Praetorian equipment was pristine and high-quality; delegating to quartermasters risked pilfering.
I inspected some fresh gear and tsked.
“Fighting like that with such fine weapons. 'Parade-ground army' isn't wrong.”
Marius and I had Rikius impale stripped corpses on stakes along the road. Officers went on crosses. They were traitors worse than barbarians, unworthy of respect.
This was mild, actually.
Marius, the emperor's confidant, had wanted to bury them roadside for passersby to trample.
Too much labor and road hassle, so we stopped there.
“Ptoo. Filthy traitors.”
Soldiers spat on the roadside dead after finishing. Who wouldn't resent pampered elites rebelling against the Empire?
Though Atillca men, guilty of murdering superiors, might feel mixed.
We finished cleanup and marched triumphantly toward the capital.
Of course, heralds preceded us to avoid alarming citizens.
As we reached the east gate, senators rushed out, having heard of victory. Cowed by Praetorians recently, even they bowed deeply despite their lofty status.
“Senators showing you respect now, sir.”
Rikius whispered. I shook my head.
“Don't overpraise me, Rikius. Today I'm a triumphator; tomorrow, a loser. War's like that. No room for arrogance. Hubris claims thousands of lives. I'm no hero—just a survivor who paid in comrades' blood.”
“Like the old triumph generals and their slaves' warnings.”
“Exactly. No need to strut and irk the highborn.”
Rikius laughed.
“Well said, sir.”
“Anyway, wave hard. Citizens are watching.”
I waved amid roadside cheers, flowers raining endlessly.
But this glory stood on the Empire's bitter wounds.
I never forgot.
(To be continued)